I am a Dancer.

I started dancing when I was 7 years old.

On my favourite TV show, they featured a group of Ukrainian dancers on one of their shows. In reality, my first choices for activities were Wushu and Irish Dancing, but living in a small town, neither of those were even remotely plausible options. Which I was ok with – I was, as a kid, content to simply bounce around my room in a tutu to “A Christmas Panflute” and “Benny G. Greatest Hits” cassette tapes (and, yes, I did pick those out myself. I had great taste in music, clearly, even as a child).

But when I saw those dancers bound on to the television screen, clapping and cheering, colours and ribbons and dancers flying everywhere, I knew it was what I wanted to do. Listening to mom read me a story one night, I interrupted and declared that I wanted to become a Ukrainian dancer. Mom obliged, eager to see me moving in some way that didn't involve blaring “Sing Sing Sing!” at 300 decibels, stomping around the house in my tutus. And, since soccer and baseball only ended with me picking dandelions in the field (I wasn't a real sporty girl), we were all eager to try something new.

After my first class, which consisted of awkwardly stepping out the basic moves of dance, I was hooked. I fell deeper in love after my first performance, where, after getting my hair braided so tightly that my hair hurt, and having my eyes lined with brilliant black swoops of kohl, they layered on my costume, which consisted of about 4 layers of fabric, along with beads, a sash-tie, and a flowered headpiece. I pranced on stage, and despite my gnawing nerves, danced like my life depended on it.

It's been almost 13 years since my first dance class, and I am proud to say that I am still as in love with dance as I was that first time I saw the girls swirl around on TV. The music sings in my blood, my feet constantly stomp out patterns. I plague my kitchen with various spins and waltzes on an almost daily basis. Mom has to intervene when I start stretching on the kitchen counters, or do barre in the living room. I recount dance steps where others count sheep. I breathe it. 

And yet, I have a confession to make...

I've never thought of myself as a dancer. Not because I feel like I lack skill – I know I have all the knowledge and training to make a magnificent dancer. Not because I haven't practiced enough, or don't have the time, dedication, or complete obsession with dance that makes a dancer. I've certainly put in the time, and constantly crave more dance. No, it's none of those things.

It's because I'm fat.

I mean, really, how many times do you see a dancer over a size 8? Very rarely. I've spent my life admiring the slender, bending forms of ballerinas. I spent my youth agonizing over the fact that, even in my textbooks, they stated that ballerinas had to be 'thin'. I spent every practice, every performance, every episode of 'So you Think you Can Dance?' knowing, that for some reason, I wasn't allowed to dance, because I wasn't skinny. Because I was 'too fat' to be a dancer.

I agonized over the fleshy rolls of my stomach, cringed whenever cameras filmed me dancing, avoided looking at myself in the mirror, cried over the fact that my thighs jiggled; my body bounced. I prodded, poked, sucked in, stopped eating, ate too much, wore tight clothes, wore loose clothes – but nothing could change the fact that I was 'fat'. Because apparently FAT and DANCER don't mix.

For almost 13 years that one stupid word, that one difference, has stomped on an entire dream of mine. The three letter word - f.a.t, has stood in the way of me pursuing something dear to my heart with the desire and passion that I have always yearned to do. F.a.t has stopped me from moving and enjoying my body in ways that I know I should.

Because my spirit sings when I dance. I can feel it, fluttering free in my chest, when I spin. I can feel it's laughter bubble up when I leap, bound across the floor, stretch my muscles until they pull and strain. It's tears of joy and release that bead up in my sweat. My feet point and weave and bend and stomp out the beat of my own heart so that even when I don't feel like I'm dancing, I am. This is what exercise should feel like, this is what dance should feel like, this is what letting your body move and bend and twist and spin should feel like.This is what doing something you love should feel like.

And I can say, with certainty, that my weight has nothing to do with this. Nor does it take away anything from it. But, because of that one stupid word, I have prevented myself from pursuing this passion seriously. And that shouldn't get in the way of anything as beautiful as the relationship dance, my body and I have.

Not anymore.

Today, I declare it to the world.

I am fat, yes. And I dance, yes. But is that such a bad thing? The world needs to see big bodies moving – because they can. And the world needs to see that fat people aren't all miserable, sweating, crying, faceless blobs that can't move, or if they do move, doing it to lose weight. Because it's not about weight, for me. Dance touches something deeper, and even on a superficial level, I love doing it. It makes me happy. Yes, world, exercise makes me, a fat girl, happy. Can you believe it?!

And it may be a shock, it may be unsettling, upsetting, maybe even 'disgusting' to some folks. But that's the exact reason why we need more fatties moving. Because I know there are people out there who, like me, find the commonly-portrayed dance world completely exclusive and inaccessible. I know there are boys who feel like they could never dance. I know there are girls out there who feel like their tummies stop them from being a ballerina. We can be just as graceful, as beautiful, as free and fast and fancy, as anyone else in this world.

I refuse to let my weight dictate what I can and cannot be. I refuse to let my weight, a simple number, a three letter word that has wounded me so deep, clipped my proverbial wings and caged me, control and define me and my destiny.

I am a dancer. I am a dancer who also happens to be fat. I am graceful, and free, and I believe that dance, as an art form, and as a basic, ancient form of human expression, should be enjoyed and experienced by people of all sizes, ages, races, genders...the list goes on. And I am going to continue to work as a dancer, because it is a dream of mine that I refuse to let die.

And I invite anyone else who feels this to join me.

Beautiful photo credit to Liz Naiden